


Remember Enough for the Both of Us (Bruce's POV: chapter 8-9)

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Guilt, M/M, bruce's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 04:55:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14663760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: This is a fill for a prompt requesting Bruce's POV for chapter 8 and the beginning of chapter 9 of my Science Boyfriends fic,Remember Enough for the Both of Us. If you haven't read that, this probably won't make much sense; there is a lot of buildup (and a lot of angst!) leading up to the incidents in this chapter.I'm dying of squee for the opportunity to write fic of my fic, so thank you so much for the request, a-non-sequitur!Remember Enough for the Both of Us: What if a terrible accident causes Bruce to forget who Tony is when he Hulks out? Years of love, life, and memories lost in a single incident. Can they ever recover what they lost without being destroyed in the process? And what if they do, and it happens again?





	Remember Enough for the Both of Us (Bruce's POV: chapter 8-9)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Remember Enough for the Both of Us](https://archiveofourown.org/works/864823) by [DaftPunk_DeLorean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean). 



Sometimes, despite the deep mourning he felt for the loss of years of his life and memories, it seemed as though Bruce could almost settle into a comfortable routine here. He had his own lab, people who wanted to be his friends, every luxury at his fingertips, and…. Tony. 

That was the problem.

They spent time together, working in his lab, eating meals with the others, even (and Bruce was always horrified at himself) falling asleep in front of a movie on the couch. Every time it happened, he woke up to find that Tony was nearly on his lap, and he had to strangle back a startled noise as he slipped away to his room, using all his willpower and control to keep his heart from racing. He always thought in those moments that Tony must be suicidal, to risk startling him and setting off the Other Guy like that. 

He could tell that this tentative ease they had fallen into was slowly killing Tony, and Bruce felt like Atlas, carrying that guilt as a world on his shoulders. He spent a lot of time in his room, and even more time wandering the tower at night, looking at mementos and photos, and hiding a frown when the smiling, healthy, loving Tony in the photos became more and more of a caricature of this faded, hollow, and desperate Tony who haunted Bruce’s lab with an ever-present tumbler of hard liquor.

Even their small breakthroughs and rare moments of hope seemed months ago, and all the work that he and Tony and Thor did just seemed to drain Tony even more, adding to Bruce’s guilt; they all did so much for Bruce, and he didn’t deserve any of it.

All he could do was destroy. It was bad enough that the Other Guy destroyed his life. But that he could live with. What he couldn’t live with was destroying Tony’s life. 

And yet here he was. 

And there Tony was, wasting away (god, he was so thin), sacrificing everything to help Bruce, plastering on plastic smiles and bantering, while looking like his soul was already dead whenever he thought no one was watching.

But Bruce always watched him, and always wondered. How did they end up together? What was Tony really like? He felt like he couldn’t possibly know, because he couldn’t re-live photos and video clips, and Tony had been a ghost ever since the accident, only growing more veiled as time passed. Bruce even called Betty at one point, her gentle voice piercing him (probably for a second time) when she told him that she was married and had a child now, and that he had a good thing with Tony and didn’t have to be afraid anymore, but please don’t call again.

_You don’t have to be afraid anymore._ It just wasn’t that easy.

Every day, Bruce felt like he was waiting for something. Waiting for a storm, for the other shoe to drop, waiting for all this to be a trick of Ross’; all the expressions of dread settled themselves in his gut. Their lack of success in the research and Tony becoming more and more agitated and sleepless left Bruce feeling increasingly guilty, like he owed them something. Owed Tony something.

Was that what it was? Did Bruce feel like all this luxury was pity from Tony? When Bruce decided to stay with Tony, was it out of guilt, or out of love? He hated that he didn’t know. He knew what Tony and the others told him, but he didn’t _know,_ couldn’t corroborate with his own memories. It made him sick to think such a thing, and he refused to let himself believe it, but as always, every negative thought (Tony was using him, Bruce whored himself for his own safety, his ‘friends’ tolerated him at best, their safety from him was an illusion) shouldered its way into the back of his mind, festering and rotting until he couldn’t shut them out.

He had nightmares (again) and woke up sweating and choking, panicking that he could have lost control so easily, wondering why these people (Tony) continued to trust him. Despite a foul mood, he decided to head to his lab early to start work, however futile it seemed. When he arrived, Tony was, as usual, already there, hunched over his table, pencil in hand, staring at nothing. He looked asleep with his eyes open. Bruce touched his shoulder, worried, as he was every morning to find Tony like this, lost in some darkness he refused to let others see.

Tony jolted and looked up at Bruce, and for a miniscule moment, his eyes were like a dead man’s, until he smiled faintly at Bruce.

“Morning,” he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat, reaching for his empty tumbler and looking almost confused to find that it was empty.

“Good morning,” Bruce said, his brow furrowing. Tony was unwashed, unshaven, and underfed. It weighed on Bruce. “When was the last time you ate, Tony?” Tony waved him off, turning back to his work, looking at it as though he couldn’t remember where he left off.

“Last night. Grilled cheese.”

He was lying, and Bruce knew it. He’d heard Tony say “I’m fine” enough times now that he knew that tone was a lie. But he said nothing, only going to his desk and setting up his work from last night. Thor joined them within the hour, bringing pastries and coffee, but none of them indulged. Again, Bruce felt like he was waiting for something to happen. 

Every day was worse than the one before; the tension grew in the lab until it was palpable, each of them snappish and short-tempered. Bruce ruminated constantly on everything that had ever hurt him, everything he’d lost, and everything that he could still lose. He ruminated on his guilt; he blamed himself, blamed Tony, blamed Thor, then felt intense guilt that he could think such things, and blamed himself again. 

Bruce moved files around on a screen listlessly one day, tweaking things on a holographic model without much interest or hope, when Thor heaved a sigh behind him and set down one of the heavy scrolls with a thunk.

I am deeply sorry, my friends,” Thor murmured. “I have interpreted the scrolls in every imaginable manner, and I have yet been unable to divine the secrets which elude us.” Bruce sighed and hunched deeper in on himself, but didn’t turn. He couldn’t bear to see either of their faces, especially Tony’s.

“It’s all right, Thor, we’ll just have to get a little deeper into theoretical physics…” Bruce murmured, and trailed off, a hopeless note to his voice. The harder they worked, it just seemed like the further they got from their goal.

“Thought you were supposed to understand all this shit, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Tony muttered sourly under his breath, and a wave of dread twisted in Bruce’s stomach again. There was a moment of silence before he heard an obviously exasperated sigh. 

“Tony, it is not often that I am afforded leave to Midgard for such a lengthy period, and I have chosen to spend it with you to help in any way I can, you know that. I have not even had opportunity to commune with my Lady Jane, and-“ his words were cut off when Tony inhaled sharply.

“Oh, gosh. I can’t even imagine how _difficult_ it must be for you to be cut off from someone you love. What _must_ that be like?” Tony bit out venomously. Bruce’s spine went rigid and his hands froze over his model. This was the other shoe dropping. Tony sounded ready to burn every bridge he had. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and took slow, measured breaths, trying to shut them out and focus on staying calm.

“It is not my intent to belittle your suffering, my friend. I only mean to point out that her expertise in the ways of travel among the stars could prove a worthy contribution to our research. She is as much an expert in translating the ways of magic into words of science, as you are creating thinking machines out of mere scratches on paper. These creatures have created a weapon from the magic that brought them here, and-“ 

Tony slammed down a tablet, and Bruce nearly jumped out of his skin. 

“Yeah, and if you and your dad would keep a fucking leash on all the magical bullshit running up and down your Yagger-sil or whatever the fuck you call it, none of this would have happened in the first place!” he shouted. Bruce started to hastily save and close down his research so he could get out of here, he needed to get out, needed to remove himself-

“Tony, it is neither I, nor the people of Asgard, at which you should be angry. We have no more control over the actions of the other realms, than we do of yours.” Thor’s voice was tight, holding back, and Tony didn’t back down.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do? We’re up to our dicks in magic here, and the only person this side of the galaxy who knows anything about it, has his royal fucking head up his ass!” Tony shouted. 

The hairs on Bruce’s arms rose, the air dry and crackling with Thor’s fury, and Bruce felt a mighty mental shove from the Other Guy. Thor’s voice grew thunderous, and the timbre and frisson of static electricity that swept the room actually made Bruce feel afraid. _It’s all right, I’m not in danger,_ he told himself (told the Other Guy). He lurched forward, the force of Hulk inside him causing a physical response in Bruce’s body when Thor unleashed a deafening shout.

“Do not think to place the blame for this upon my shoulders, I will not carry it! Are you not a paragon of intellect on this world? I suggest you endeavor to live up to the repute set before you, and solve the problem with your _science,_ and cease the passing of blame!” 

"You son of a fucking bitch! How _dare_ you?! I’ve been up here pretending I’m not dying inside, trying to make sense of the mess that _your_ goddamned neighbors dropped in our laps, and all you can do is talk about how you haven’t had a chance to fuck Jane yet and… just fuck you! _FUCK YOU!”_ Tony screamed, and the sounds of a physical scuffle broke out behind Bruce, and god, he had to get out of there, he wanted to rip right through the wall to get away from the conflict, his eyes bled green, he could feel the heat in his veins, burning through him like acid, how could they _do_ this to him, how could they, when they _knew_ what would happen- 

“Dare not ever speak of Jane in this manner again, or I shall dismember you myself!” Thor shouted. “You want me to leave? I shall do so, and forsake Midgard forever, should you-“ 

_“Would you two knock it the fuck off?!”_ Bruce slammed his hands on the table, and his voice, low and intense, cut through their shouting. He bent over his worktable, gripping the edges with white knuckles, not looking at either of them. “You’re not the only ones on edge around here, you know. If you’re going to fight, then get the hell out of my lab so I can work!” It was flimsy. He wanted them to run. He wanted them to run for their own safety, and this time it had nothing to do with the Other Guy.

“Get the hell- I’m trying to _help_ you, Bruce! Excuse me for wanting to fix you!” Tony shouted at him.

Bruce rounded on Tony, clenching his fists, eyes blazing green. He couldn’t even see Tony straight. The edges of his vision were undefined and pulsing, and he seemed to absorb Tony’s fury, twisting it and internalizing it, feeding everything horrible inside him. 

“Has it occurred to you that maybe, after all this time to think, and all this research we’ve done, that I might not _want_ to be _fixed?_ Maybe it’s just starting to seem like you want me fixed more for yourself than for me!” Bruce yelled. A small, receding part of Bruce’s mind knew he was going down a path from which he might not be able to recover, but that part of him was shouted down by his own destructive anger, and he wanted to scream for Tony to shut up before he got hurt.

“How could you even think something that stupid? You’re missing years of your life, and you’re just gonna be ok with that?” Tony yelled, jabbing a finger at Bruce’s chest furiously, carelessly, out of control. “Fine, Bruce! Just… just keep on living like those years never happened, so you can skulk around the tower like Ross is still on your ass, and stand in the corner because you never learned how to have friends, and go on moping that no one ever fucking loved you!” Tony nearly screamed. 

Bruce was utterly livid. Rage flared through him, irrational and cruel, filled with hate and venom and fueled by the deep, cavernous, self-hate that told him that everything good in his life was a lie, and that the rug was finally being pulled out from under him. He was beyond reason.

“Jesus, Tony! You’re such a _fucking asshole!_ How the hell did you ever trick me into falling in love with you?!” he shouted back.

The following seconds passed in slow-motion, colored by silent, crippling tension. Bruce watched, frozen and helpless, as Tony’s face contorted in a thousand heartbreaking ways, the air coming out of him as though Hulk- no, _Bruce,_ had punched him through his already damaged heart. Bruce watched as the man who loved him, who was killing himself for him, wilted. Bruce watched as he killed Tony a little more, twisting the knife just for the cruelty of it.

What did he just do? What did he just _say?_ He couldn’t think of a single word that would have been meaner, more callous, than what just spilled out of his mouth without thought.  
And Tony loved him. So, _so_ much. Bruce may not have his memories of their relationship, but that much he knew into the core of his bones. Tony loved him, and Bruce just spat in the face of it. 

Bruce almost immediately deflated, the green fading from his eyes. He unclenched his fists and reached out a hand to Tony.

“Oh my God, Tony- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that…” he murmured. 

Tony took a quick step back to avoid his touch, eyes glued to Bruce’s, and Bruce wanted to shrivel up from the guilt. Tony opened his mouth to speak, but whatever he wanted to say was lost. They just looked at each other; Bruce’s face contrite and heavy with shame, Tony’s a heartbreaking mixture of betrayal and self-hatred. Thor moved to Tony’s side and placed his hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony cringed away from his touch, even before Thor spoke.

“Our tempers have been high, we have all uttered words we regret; perhaps if we-“ Thor started, his tone placating, but Tony spun out of Thor’s grip, looking at them both incredulously. Bruce took a step forward, reaching out to Tony, but Tony backed away from them until his back bumped against the door, then wrenched it open and ran out.

“Tony! Tony, come back, I didn’t mean- Jesus Christ, _Jesus Christ,_ what did I just _do?”_ Bruce said, raking both hands through his hair as everything unraveled. Oh god, he did it again, he ruined everything, anything that was good, he destroyed, he- he-

“Bruce!” Thor shouted, his voice small and distant, and Bruce realized Thor was gripping his wrists, trying to get Bruce to unclench. He was folded in on himself, breathing raggedly, and looked up at Thor beseechingly.

“Tony-“

“You must go to him, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded, letting Thor help him up, and they ran to the elevators, jabbing the button until the door opened. Bruce rubbed his arms with his hands in jerky motions, until they got to Tony’s bedroom door, where they could hear an alarming series of crashes from within. 

“Tony! Tony, I didn’t mean it, let me in!” he shouted, pounding on the door. He tried the knob, but it was locked. “Tony!” Then he heard an incoherent, desperately hurt scream, and his heart rate spiked in fear. He looked at Thor, who tried the knob as well, without success.

_“I HATE YOU!”_

Bruce heard Tony, and grabbed Thor’s arm, almost needing physical support. 

Tony hated him. 

Bruce deserved it. It never once occurred to Bruce that Tony didn’t mean those words for him.

He stared at the door helplessly, startling when Thor pounded on it again and called for Tony. The eerie silence seemed suffocating compared to the crazed noises only moments earlier.

“Tony?” Bruce called, more hushed. “Jarvis, is Tony okay?”

“I am afraid my parameters only allow me to report that Sir is not in immediate danger,” Jarvis said, and Bruce flared, annoyed that he was annoyed with an AI.

“What did he do?” 

“I am afraid I cannot elaborate.”

“Jarvis! _What did he do?”_

“I am afraid I cannot elaborate. Sir’s privacy protocols are quite specific.”

Bruce raked his fingers through his hair, pacing in a circle of nerves. 

“I can’t believe it. I can’t believe my hands are tied by a _goddamned computer program!”_ Bruce muttered, then turned to Thor. “You have to- you have to use the hammer. Get through the door, I could- the Other Guy-“ maybe they could bust down the door, maybe they could- maybe-

“Bruce. We are not going to break down his door. The man wants privacy,” Thor said calmly, gripping Bruce by the shoulders, and Bruce’s expression was pained.

“Thor, I hurt him. I think I really hurt him bad,” he whispered, holding onto Thor’s forearms.

“For that, you must give him time.”

“I didn’t mean it. You believe me, don’t you?”

“I do. But I fear the ramifications of your words may ripple through Tony as a tsunami in the ocean,” Thor said solemnly, and Bruce simultaneously respected and hated his honesty. He stepped back and slid down the wall until he sat on the floor beside Tony’s door, knees drawn up. And there he stayed for three days, picking listlessly at the food the others brought for him, checking with Jarvis about Tony’s status constantly, and growing more and more agitated at receiving the same answer. Steve tried to distract him, and Thor sat with him in silence more often than not, but for three days, Bruce was lost in his own sea of regrets.

He was troubled by how much he cared, and even more troubled that he could even consider not caring. His feelings for Tony were a mire of confusion, but he knew this was his fault. He didn’t even blame the aliens who caused the accident. _He_ was the one who changed Tony, who took everything from him in a single stroke of apathy and indifference. 

So he sat vigil beside Tony’s door for three days, knocking at regular intervals, until Jarvis informed him that Tony was no longer responding, and the emergency override protocols were now in effect. Bruce shoved at the door frantically until Jarvis released the locks.

“Emergency override protocol Stark-Alpha-211 in effect. You may enter, Doctor Banner.”

“Jesus, Jarvis! How many more days were you planning to make us wait?” Bruce spat, bursting into the room.

“My apologies, Doctor Banner. My override programming is rather-“

_“Tony!”_

In the span of a millisecond, Bruce took in the room; smashed glass, overturned furniture, and _Tony._ Curled in a ball on the bed, shivering violently with fever-bright, half-lidded eyes, and his arm outstretched, sheets stained heavily with his blood. In the span of a millisecond, Bruce looked upon his good work, and thought that he’d never failed someone as much as he’d failed Tony.


End file.
